WATERWAYS:

Poetry in the Mainstream

November, 1988

lit is a strong will that

r

can resist asserting itself.

~ : ........

WA TERWA YS: Poetry in the Mainstream

Volume 9 Number 10 November, 1988

Barbara Fisher & Richard Alan Spiegel -Go-Editors THomas Perry- Intern

CONTENTS;

3-5 Sr. Mary Ann Henn 31-33

6-7 Hubert E. Hix 34-36

8-13 Arthur Winfield Knight 37-40

14-19 Joanne Seltzer 41-42

20-24 Joan Payne Kincaid 43-45

25 Rose Romano 46

·26 David Charlton 47-51

27-30 Albert Huffstickler 52

Sample copy- $2 + 54d:; Subscriptions $20 for 11 issues; Ten Penny Players, 799 Greenwich Street, NYNY 10014-1843. Submissions wil] be returned on Iy if accompanied by a stamped self addressed envelope.

@ 1988,. Ten Penny Players INc.

Susan LUther Susan Packie Ida Fasel

William J. Vernon Kit Knight

Lyn Lifshin

Glenna Johnson Smith Laurel Speer

"':1 I

.:

DOES VINEGAR MAKE A SAINT -

Sr. Mary Ann Henn

Do I look humble?

Don't be fooled.

I gri nd with resentment. 1 t burns in my bones

like vinegar.

Yes, live sat back

and taken the poorest and the worst and-watched others go before me

to the highest

and the best.

But don''t. think that's

made a sai nt of me.

It hasn't,

live hated fate I've hated them.

3

DRIVING BOREDOM - Sr. Mary Ann Henn Heavy motor drone

a chain dragged .

across the grey moss of - time. Double vision starts -

from staring at tar

two lanes

separate into four. The dotted line sandpapered by- speed twin spots gliding under the car.

Telephone poles shift gears, running, running past

posts collecting

behind my shoulder.

Meditation is an effort but this: ..

Poetry takes effort too-friends they are ...

but this

is stifling my soul.

I move like a body underwater ...

four lanes still there ... smoothed by speed. Headl ights beg(n

to tunnel the night. Everything passes by.

4

J'~ -

H A R 0 COLD CASH - Sr. Mary Ann Henn A t five ocl ock

each week day, he walked home, i ntenL

his shoulders bent--

daily double--

except

days he went

for his haircuts. Cash on the line. For groceries, even for a car.

Cramps tried to pay his way with food. "The qar dans mine! II

II But I would not take money except the time

of my wifes 5urget~y. I have saved enough to bury us.

I1II owe no man anything.

Charging is dishonest .IL

TWINS - H. Edgar Hix

Siamese twi ns. My brother/myself. Connected at the liver we share bile. (The doctors dorr't give us much time, but what do they know?)

Mom and Dad called the circus. At least weill be employed.

[Forgive me, We share the same blood I cannot help but dream his dreams.)

My brother tal ks in our sleep

I I isten to him chuckle and shake

sometimes we look at each other eye to eye until I bl ink and I laugh at me

even the bearded lady doesn't want us

so what is there to do at night but sleep?

We hold ourselves and dream of women holding me. I wake up

with bad breath and argue about who gets to brush first.

6

BEING AN ANGEL - H. Edgar Hix

Bei ng an anqe! , she had to be blonde. (It was one of those angel things. J

She took voice lessons

and harp lessons.

She I earned to embroider, bake white bread

and drink tea without any cream or sugar or even the veriest touch of brandy.

Being a demon, her red roots tended to show I no matter how often she- dyed,

7

When I saw her again I realized she was

a nice lady

who drank too much,

but most of us did that.

Even when lid stay

with Lee and Helen

for a week at a time

I had the feel ing

she wouldn't be there if I r-eached but

to touch her.

TH E I NV IS I BLE WOMAN - Ar-thur Winfield Knight

Helen said I never noticed her when she worked

for an agent

on the Sunset Strip.

When lid go into the office it was as if

she were invi sible.

Later on

she ran off

with a friend of mine

who said she reminded him of unslept in pajamas.

8

When Lee died

1 got a Christmas card from Helen every year,

but she never

enclosed a letter. There was just

her pale signature, more faded each year.

This Christmas I didn't get

a card from Helen,

but a writer-friend told shed been despondent and had jumped

from the balcony

of her apartment

in San Diego,

her body arcing out, still unnoticed,

into the invisible air.

9

AL JENNINGS: YESTERDAYIS NEWS - Arthur Winfield Knight

Because 11m five feet four and have fiery red hair

r eporter-s like to say,

"We know who you are. Yosemite Sam.

Shoot anyone lately?" They tell me

11m yesterdayls news. Well, maybe my career as an outlaw

didn't amount to much, but its all I have left. I net sixty dollars

and a nickel-pi ated watch robbinq two trains,

and my career lasted

109 days; I know

that donlt make me Jesse James. But I shot it out

with Sheriff Le dbe tt er

before they put me away for five years,

and I inspired O. Henry

when we were jailed together. Dont that count for something? Later on, I even ran

for governor of Oklahoma. So what if I lost?

At least I tried.

Maybe 11m not

lithe toughest hombre

who ever rode out west, 11

but 1111 send the next varmint who calls me Sam

r unniri' down the road with a load of buckshot in his britches.

Then we'Il see

if 11m vester dav's news.

10

BOOK 'EM, DANa - Ar-thur Winfield Knight At the end of a long,

often confusing day

my wife and I watch

Hawai i Five-O on the late show. It1s reassunng to know

everythi ng can be solved

in an hour or less.

Nothing l-eally effects McGarrett.

He never smiles,

his face perpetually stony. He goes after the bad guys imperturbably

and when they' re caught he tells his ass lstant , "Bock "ern , Dana. II

I wish my life were that simple.

I rage thru a lot of my days. Bewildered by I ife's complexities. I cry. I laugh. I reach out into the empty air,

wishing I were i'v1cGan-ett.

When thi ngs got tou~h

lid just say, "Book em, Dana.

Book "em.."

And everything would be OK.

I think we went to see every movie made:

§..2Y On A Dolphin· with Allen Ladd;

and John Wayne

in Legend of the Lost.

Most of the f 1 rns were bad, the way our 1 ives were.

But after seei ng

The Shark Fighters

with Victor Mature

we could laugh about his acting;

and we didn't have to touch.

GOING TO THE MOVIES

Arthur Winfield Knight I don 't know why

we stayed together that vear .

I guess

the movies pro.longed things.

If we'd stayed home, watching TV and drinking,

we wou Id have fought, .---~ ,

h f . d (),._, l;';ll,nGI

but ~e.it er a us like ,.C .... ~

public spectacles. )..(\ !~7.

I' i~\~"':'~\I).~~;;;~ __ .I~

\ 0fip'r

o 1\ ">:'.-

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, l- ..... ,,)

h 't I (, )

II f-~(r .. <' :!f -/. III ~~

{I f(:rl{ . IJ'

l::,~ ----

""c"" <:::=:_

12

r

When we saw Giant

we pretended ~lives were

bigger, more expansive

than they were.

And J ames Dean

almost made us feel good about our anguish

when we saw

Rebel Without A Cause.

After sitting thru

A Farewell To Arms

with Rock HudS'Ci"n we stumbled out

onto the rainy streets, staggering, pr~tending we were dying.

II Frederick ~ II "Catherine ~ II

Holding on-e" another. Laughing. - :Sometimes

we could even pretend we still liked each other.

13

that much everyone knows but most of us forget

the inadequacy

of the intellect

when placed against the spirit.

ABOUT KNOWLEDGE - Joanne SeItter

Each apple tell s the tale of how wishy-washy

the human will

tends to be

when it is confronted by the lovely,

tantalizing spread

set upon the table nobody owns but God.

Thi ngs spiritual

are superior to

things material--

DELI LAH SCOLDS THE PH I LIST IN ES - Joanne Seltzer There are differences. to be sure.

in the fixings between our legs.

Does that make you su perior?

Can the sperm outlive the egg?

I got the best of Samson without muscle. Strength means common sense. But man must throw his weight about as if no woman ever danced.

alone--or with another woman. Someday (when this wa-r subsldes ) 1111 dance myself around your room as if I never took your bribe.

Cocls grindstone even puts a man down lower than his concubine.

15

LOT'S WI FE - Joanne Seltzer

what she was looking at isn't as important

as the thing she became,

a I ump without a name

16

THE LITERARY PARTY - Joanne Seltzer

They went wild in the dining room. I invited them over for dinner. my little Aynsley friends: the seal, the pig, the rabbit, the ow!, and the bear. The white tablecloth was set with my best Aynsley dishes and with handsome goblets of Irish crystal, a different pattern for each guest. For a centerpiece

I used a heap of rotten apples arranged in the Waterford bowl that is tall enough to hide the whiskers of the Cheshire cat--

the one I didn"t include--who spoils every party with his wonderstricken smirk. I seated my china guests about the table and draped white linen across each delicately crafted, fired breast.

The seal slapped his tail against the table for attention.

III protest, II he announced, lithe exclusion of fish from this vegetarian feast. II

I ran to the kitchen for a can of salmon and quickly put together a flesh-colored salad. While I was out-of-view, the pig squeezed into the centerpiece and noisily munched the rotten apples. "Quite good, II I heard her say, "but not as flavorful as kitchen slops. II Meanwhi le , the rabbit, eager for her carrot juice, tipped

the Lismore goblet to the floor. It broke into a thousand exquis-

17

ite shivers and I exploded with oblong tears. "That was my favorite pattern, you know! II I shrieked at the crouching pinkeyed figure who began to nibble the white lace cloth.

I shouldn It have invited the owl. That nasty fellow, when he saw my sorrow, flew to the table and gobbled the rabbit. I truly do love rabbits, even if they soretirnes wrack my imaginative crops. I wailed my opposition to kangaroo courts.

The pig, who also loves rabbits, left the party abruptly, having suddenly remembered a previous engagement. The seal discreetly murmured that the salmon tasted sour and held better head for a hospital to have his palate drained. And the basso profundo bear growled that nothing, nothing is ever provided for those of us who happen to be omnivorously inclined. He, too, wandered away from that aspect of disarray.

All that was left of my party was the predatory owl, my Aynsley dishes, most of my crystal, and a soiled tattered tablecloth that the best laundry in town sent back the next week in a broken box, cryptically labeled: "Sorry! II

18

THE MAD HATTER - Joanne Seltzer Under the mad hatters hat

there was once

a normal person

I n fact if he hadn't been touched by mercury

there'd be nothi ng wrong with his head

So

if you're invited to a tea party you must always show respect

For both the genius and the dunce

19

BALANCE - Joan Payne Kincaid On a tightrope

hanging in

11m net

I am

a conci I iatory gesture check the angles

tilt forth and

back carrying opposites

that appear this way at times that way at times

timeless or not at all

always

balancing options one side sways

to another engage- disengage

hate- love

begin endings

end beginnings

think

don't think miss a beat ...

fall.

VANQU I SHED - Joan Payne Kincaid

It amounts to a game I practise

like house work or swimming with the coach

when I'm ready to scream

abuse

she says "Just paint

a smile on your face

and shut your mouth." When 11m ready

to assert

a whole new

life

she says "Just put your tongue between your

teeth

and bite down hard. It always wor-ks"

she says

and ['rn still here ...

21

b

SHE'S A SMILER - Joan Payne Kincaid And you think she's

en your side

but then you hear her guests with their consistency state

things like .

WOMEN OVER 40

are unand you

attractive ... know

those are the ones

watching

who are

22

ON A TALK SHOW - Joan Payne Kincaid This revered host

tells thousands

"I was mugged

but was able to drive them off

and when I saw

some cops

down the block

I thought, what's the point of saying anythi ng? They're the same kind

and one of them

was a stupid woman

dressed up I ike

a copl"

~

~ •. ~I-:;'

23

==

TH IS LEADER - Joan Payne Kincaid Says don't

give money

to the homel ess

the solution is

empty buildings

on a military reservation looking down the road

toward concentration camps and the convenience

of removal ...

r

THE MI CE - ROSE ROMANO The mice sleep all day, curled in the leg part of an old sock in a corner of their cage

under the sink in the bathroom. They look like a big blue ziti,

their pine shavings like grated parmesan.

They like their comfort. their rags--

the toe of another sock, half a

hanky, even a bit of tissue.

In the afternoon, 1 go in to sort

the laundry on the floor. The fringe of a bath towel falls through

the closely spaced bars of their cage.

They start. They rise, their eyes still shut. but their noses

twitchin<;l madly. They rush

to the Side of the cage, bracing their back paws against the bars, and with their front paws,

they pull, they yank, determined

in thei r bell ef that the towe I is theirs.

25

FOOTSORE - David Charlton

There are three hundred miles between the past and Phoenix, Arizona. An Apache

wal ks it barefoot.

His last steps follow him into a city with no memory. His open mouth

knows hunger

but not the word to tell us how it feels. His speech

died when the earth grew sidewalks. Our customs burn his feet.

He stands ina job line

and his voice is sleeping in the alphabet. We ';jive him silent sheets

to lie in for a night.

He slips through

our doors before morning Change goes without shoes.

J J

26

first published in Separate DGlSES also 'Without Shoes' American Studies PRess, 1987

OLD' COUPLE - Albert Huffstickler They've been around a long time. They are hot wise.

He's had a stroke.

He sits too still.

She sits poised,

eyes on his too-still face

as though waiting for him to decide.

They are adrift. .

He smokes. She sits. The room leaks shadows.

There is nothing anyone can say that will make them more

or less than what they are. They could be stone.

27

w

EDD IE - Albert Huffstickler

Old man Eddie, aged and cracking, gnarled in def eat , an old tree .swept by a brush fire,

a knob on his cheek where a large cyst clings like the rounded nub of a lopped-off branch. His rhythm's a complaint against all motion,

his s tar ts and stops a subtle sabotage.

Ha's on the side of stillness

and, at the slightest indication of a pause, sits and slumps, defiantly immobile, dejected, the builder the stone rejected.

March 27, 1973

28

I wan ted to tell her that she'd died without sounding judgmental

but she kept sitting there looking at me with a sort of numb expectation

as though I carried within me

the power of resurrection,

I wanted to give this, fc.(\ to her simply as in formation

so that if she decided to do something, she would at least know where to start. But there was a sorrow over her

like a leaft-strewn lawn in autumn--

the sorrow of something irrevocably"passed--

and so I ~<3t· and mouthed platitudes ,"<);"~';,~,:",,,

while the v ear.s went by i/i'~~'~~'

and said nothing at all that mattered. ",~~!'i~J-l:\~~'~\

, ',' \ ~t"'~~:.J i ...

~'~ "~~~L~/'" ,~Fr.\<: ~\P?,'.7/J1

K~t.J:t:\ ~:::'!II'

r

WHAT !T CAME DOWN TO - Albert Huff st.ickler-

If she had even vaguely known me,

that in itself would have been message enough but she didn't really know anyone anymore. We sat there with the wind blowing over us-a wind From the past--

wrapped snugly in banalities of who and where till the darkness descended like an axe. sundering us past any hope of reunion,

sat on and on while

the wind blew through the sudden dark-a sad horn proclaiming

the death of a fallen king,

Per ipl urn Austin,' 11n Anthology of 11ustin Poetry July '87

29

V-tHY CR,j_.ZY PEOPLE Slvl0KE - ,';Ibert Huffstickter

gently,

all the time

in the world,

no one telling it

to do anything,

no one forcing it

Time is how a cigerette burns down

between your fingers

sitting over coffee

in a diner or a

Winchell!s Donuts where they won't tell you

to leave;

to be anything other than smoke,

is how the ash

[us t smoke,

jus t I st tin g i t be

what it is

till it!s through

being

and disappears

glo',.,.s· and her:gs

till it fells;

is how the smoke rises upward from that white cylinder

slowly,

Poetry Motel, No. 22, Spring '88 Deluth, Ninn.

30

BROKEN VESSELS - Susan Luther

IINo catastrophe is quite like another ," he pontificated.. tying his shoe

the morni ng he went out

to jog and tripped over

the hump between panes

in the sidewalk, crackit'T!)

not the proverbial mothers back but his jaw. (This was after the broken love affair in France,

before the cat died

or borers got the birch.) Yes, tying his other shoe,

No catastrophe is quite like another

he said.

31

;r-

I

The Voyager's Advent on Christmas-Eve Eve - Susan Luther

-as naturally as leaves to the tree,

said Keats, or poetry should never be composed at all ...

---as u nnatu ral as graft to the plant,

says Davie. is lyricism in an age of nuclear war, high technology:

---As possible as the Wright Brothers' flight in 1903.

said Rutan, B .. to circumvent the globe nonstop in a slender ship of glasS. and graph-

ite, without refueling. in small company: DOMI

say Rutan. R .. and Yeager, homing in to the desert after nine near-sleepless days

I IL

32

it, could break the "last" aviation record left to history:

Bravo! Hi-yo! the crowd shouts to witness the event. elated

to be present at the consummation of this feat the President calls "Magnificent! "--Yea!

I also cheer to see their triumph. turn the t.v. up a bit

. to hear

the jubilation magnified. thinking on these things as we all watch

this

floating gas tank drift

to earth, circling to land

as naturally (it seems) as leaves fall from a windless tree.

of danger and discomfort, of risking disaster merely to see

if they could do

A TECH N I CALI TY - Susan Pack!e She had been technically blind for at least fifty years,

seeing only what she could

touch, srnel!, or hear.

She used a staff

to guide her on trails that she would later guide the sighted along, dogmatically asserti ng that she had no handicap that her blindness

was only a technicality

34

SLUM GODDESS - Susan Packie

She was named after a mythological Greek goddess, lived in

a city tenement with paint peeling from the walls, worked in

a day care center tending the children of others

while her own

sickened on paint chips, took remedial courses

in a community college night school program

went to church

every Sunday

and prayed for redemption from strife, a little respite

from her life,

a mythology

not of her own creation, unfit for the goddess

for whom she was named, a woman

whose existence

was acquiescence, an aging

black goddess

of the 51 ums.

35

A MASS FOR SAM - Susan Packie Sam never claimed to be

the most famous artist

in the world. the president

of the university he practically lived in, the best salesman

or the richest, but when he

set up his paintings

on the steps of Hamilton Hall or peddled his candy

in the library, no one

would have known. Anyone who didn't know Sam

was cutting all his classes. Anyone who didn't love Sam

was made of stone, uneducable.

When the sight went. his sister would draw the cartoons

and he wou Id fi II in the colors. When that got too hard,

the paintings became bookrnar ks . When he died, the entire

campus that had throw,., feces

at police officers in 168

and staged sit-ins at the drop

of a beanie mourned.

Sam never claimed to be great.

He just

36

BREAKFAST - Ida Fasel My son the scientist

just old enough to feed himself picks and separ-ates his oatmeal,

. theorizes

nothi ng fit to eat.

My son the philosopher challenges the set-up, questions the necessity for me to dictate

when the wi II is free,

My son the mystic

sees flower petals in the glob, splashes in the dew of milk, isolates a blazing star.

He finds the light impr-oving where he is.

37

My son the problem-sol vel" divides to put toqet her . gives a little,

takes a little,

samples with his face,

dances with the spattering spoon

TO THINK OF Tll'vlE - Ida Fasel I Af ter Whitman, 1855 J

To think of time

at remarkable digs

to find the earth favorable to the feather

but not what it was for

to see the ancient words turn black· and vanish in air that brought them out

To think of time

at a shopping plaza where a man is gunned down

a woman hugging an old purse

is slashed mere places than needed to take it

a bomb is set to go off

while I read the aisles of boxes and bottles where Whitman appeared to Ginsberg

I Jr ~

38

and bring my chosen for reckon i ng

where a bonus scandal sheet above the cash register eases my trembling

as a face furred in a ski-mask demands of the scanner

an epicure dinner of dollars

and a voice over the loud speaker proclaims double redemption

of the coupons I forgot to bring _ . '

To think of time to come

the sun exhausted to a I isp of light the moon off course

to be the last one in the size

of 01 Keefe's gorgeous red poppy and know that she was right.

39

-I

TO THIS DAY - Ida Fasel

Over the world warriors fighting wars. Over the world always on the ready missiles in the maki ng and sending. History is the homecoming where we

meet ourselves, generation after generation

driven to destroy.

My mind, an ornate gable, tops my heart in the orderly pattern of scrolls,

front for the tumult within.

I am locked between a downslope roof

and the soft warm duskiness of high places with a library book on a stack

of library books.

Knights, lairds, ladies, gypsies, smugglers, Scots nobles, Scots scoundrels. I adventure where happi ness comes with the risk of good. 1 arrive at blessed endings whose timing

is too right to he accidental:

Rebecca tall in the turrets, Ivanhoe weak in the lists. The great laws of the universe worked for them.

Do not believe I do not believe.

40

74 RUE CARDINAL LEMOINE - William J. Vernon I pick that laundry because it's

next door, and the dull work because

it makes this city's life real. These slots take fr-ancs that buy three cycles, a r-inse. washing stink from my travel s. Spun-dry, my clothing smells sun-fresh. I fold

and bag it. Then 1'm ready to try

Hemingway's first Paris home. It holds

no markers but my own curiosity.

The ground floor's now rooms, not cafe. The tavern's become an art moviehouse. I aim my camera to play

over the door, catchi ng the number

and street, the facade. Did he hope

41

to be inspired by the Pantheon, fewerthan five blocks away? Visiting Hugo's and Zola's crypts, or maybe Rousseau's. Did he think of them, walking past

to luxembourg Gardens and Gertrude Stein's advice. Or hike my way, in haste, down the hi II, crossing Boulevard

St. Germain to find what I can't

find, the original site of Shakespeare And Company, the bookstore haunt

of exiled English writers. Enough remains here to let me imagine, sipping beer

in Harry's New York Bar, watching the means of expression grin back in old mirrors.

42

THE LAST DRESS MY MOTHER I was 19 and knew everything that Christmas. lid had

two years of college

and my horizons were broad. I also had

the added sure knowledge that comes from spending seven months in hospitals. I knew it all.

My mother ordered a floor-sweepi ng vivid red dress

from a J C Penney catalog. And when she gave it to me she said, II Red was always your best color. II

live always preferred blue, but by the time

I finished college

and my first marriage

EVER GAVE ME - Kit Knight I noticed

I was often in black. 1 showed my mother a photo taken

the day I married Ar-t.hur and she asked ,

"What on earth ever made you decide on a black dress

for your new rnar r iaqe ?"

I shr uqqed and said,

lilt has a muted print;

see the .Iit t!e gold specks. II Both gowns are still lovely

and they both still fit me well. The only thing

the two dresses shared was a plunging neckline. live always known it all.

43

~ - -

MOTHERIS PRIDE - Kit Knight At first

it was only going to cost $10. But Mabel Palmer watched with feeling hands

what she carved out of redwood and felt the buffalo

shouldn't be alone.

Mabel's art gallery

is in Occidental;

and she displays her work elsewhere, too.

I collect buffaloes.

I have teddy bear buffaloes, pewter buffaloes,

buffalo pins,

a buffalo necklace plastic buffaloes,

and even a ceramic buffalo. But I never had one whittled out of redwood.

f\br had Mabel ever done one.

She guessed she put in 20 hours on what was to have been

only one afternoon IS work.

I listened to her talk.

Mabel's parents

homesteaded in Nebraska

over 100 years ago

and Mable is in her 80s. The original cabin only had one room, 20 X 10.

Mabel remembers the cool feel of the sad floor

on her bare feet.

I listened to her talk.

44

She spoke of her only brother who was killed

in a car wreck. Jimmy. I listened to her talk. Mabel remembers

riding the 500 pound pigs her family raised.

The hog would soot under the wagon, knocki ng Mabel off its back.

I listened to her talk.

Mabel+s been married

to the same man for 57 years. _ And has alwavs considered herself a country girl.

I picked up the statue

and observed the calf's tail

was tucked under its small body. A nd it looked

wi Id-eyed and frightened. Mammals nose was hovering

directly above its back.

45

Mabel never had any children. And she only said,

III thought it needed a baby She added, Iliyly husband said to name it Mother-s Pride. II

I listened to her talk.

As she handed me the carvi ng she said, hesitantly,

1IIIm afraid 11m going to

have to ask $35.

I hope you dori't think 11m over char qinq you."

MY MOTHER AND THE BEAR - Lyn Lifshin do you thi nk it's

silly ,I couldn't

put it down soft

and squashy pressing

agai nst me it

was so cuddly

me, an old woman, I sleep with its

pi nk face pushed near my skin

no face but [ imagine bear eyes

smiling honey

didn't you say this year many grown

ups are buying them

46

HUSBAND / WIFE - Glenna Johnson Smith He hit her sometimes,

but only when she deserved it, and just for her own good.

Supper was twenty minutes late one night. No need of that, and him so busy.

Time and time again she'd go out to the pasture and sit on a rock and read poetry all afternoon when she could have been patching his work pants.

And the way she kept nagging about the junk in the shed.

He always took her glasses off first '..;.

new glasses cost ;:load money.

And he hit her with the flat of his nand. No need to leave scars.

But always she just stood there.

She wouldn't shed a tear or say a word No matter how many times he struck. She faced him and stared level and cold until he handed back her glasses, turned and wal ked away.

47

JOHN AND EMMA CARPENTER- Glenna Johnson Smith

. 1

They lived across from the church in a square grey house

with tall narrow windows

muslin covered

to keep the sun from fading things.

The back porch was secure from sun behind green shades. .

The hard pine kitchen floor was saved with varnish .

John pulled his boots off in the shed.

Emma said boots had never touched her floors.

Three times a day

at five, eleven, and five,

Emma, beh ind her high lace collar and John, in clean, stiff overalls, sat across from each other.

The food was plentiful; the words were sparse.

II

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Sometimes on a summer vef ter noon Emma plodded down the path

to the graveyard behind the church.

(Sometimes John went alone, and late at night, live heard.)

When Emma,

carefu I not to soi I her dress and apron, bent by the broken, paint-peeled fence

to pull the weeds from purple-flowered mounds around three little granite markers

something within her massive sti II ness may have stirred. But Emma never let on.

I

I I'

MR. SEAVEY AND MRS. CLAPHAM - Glenna Johnson Smith It was during the cold snap of 124

that they got together,

Nobody ever knew how, but one day I!;t- aham Seavey landed at Delia Clapham IS faded grey farmhouse, lock, stock, and I ittle boy.

The widow needed a man to run the place;

the widower needed a woman to bring up his son.

They never did marry. He always called her Mrs. Clapham, arid when she spoke to him at all, she called him Mr. Seavey.

"Mr. Seavey, supper-s getti ng cold, II shed snap.

1IIIm crmi nq. Mrs. Clapham, hold your horses, II he would growl. Yet Mrs. Faulkingham from up the road

watched the upstairs chamber windows nights. On Iy one ever shone with a kerosene I amp.

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A new young preacher came to town

and called upon Del ia to give her the word: she couldn't have both Mr. Seavey and God. Delia rocked, and she pondered. At last she He brings in the wood and the water.

I'd better keep Mr. Seavey for now. II

Aunt Ella Hall, the Sunday School head. said, "The farm's doing good and the boy's Why not do as you should?

Surely he'd I ike to marry you."

. '.

said.

turned out fine.

Delia shook her head. IIHe's not"asking." was all she said.

"and I'm not sayi rig." - -

One day the storekeeper stopped and asked Graham. IIWhy not make an honest woman out of Del ia?

I don't see's it could do any harm.

Wouldn't she like to get spliced?"

But Graham set his jaw. "She's not saying, II he replied, "and I'm not asking. II

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MY VIOLENCE - Laurel Speer

My father i sn 't a cruel man, but my brother drives him insensate with flames. We sit consuming dinner,

.::-l _j/~~ My .brothe.r .~ushes with his thumb. He .can't help it; :..;!-' ,_~ .f;! he Isn't civilized yet. Is my father reminded

_ .: 0.::-~ of the million times hels put to scrub out oatmeal

I -.~.:.._.~ ";' pots? His lonq-f lnqer-ed hand snakes out, bringing

: -_ , _. '_ ,.~ down his knife handle. My brother howls; wringing his fingers. dinner dissolves. 11m scraping the last bites. I use my fork. I wonder why he doesn't use his brain to sidestep pain; how they must be locked into some shadowy hate dance having only to do

with men. 11m glad I escape this, that I can slip under the clatter and finish dinner, finally grow up and take my hands unmaimed from the table.

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